


Seats in the stalls

by Zeratul



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), SPECTRE (2015), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 08:24:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7353352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeratul/pseuds/Zeratul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m in the theatre and I have a boner. What to do — no idea.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seats in the stalls

**Author's Note:**

> The same story in Russian ["Места в партере"](https://ficbook.net/readfic/3897451).

“What the hell, if you excuse me?” Q hissed with annoyance into the phone that rang right beside his ear the very moment he managed to fall asleep. His brain that had just calmed down got two times more alarmed than before, and the quatermaster’s annoyance started to increase in geometric progression.

“Hello, Q, I’m in an urgent need for your instructions,” Bond started calmly, as if the hissing was adressed to the hamburgers seller from the twenty-four-hour snackbar on the corner of the nearby street, but surely not to him.

The quatermaster cast a quick glance at the electronic watch, standing on the bedside table on the other side of the room. Blinding bright in the darkness they were showing half past midnight. Q’s patience had boiled out enough for the usually restrained Q-branch chief to allow himself raising the voice a little.

“Double-oh-seven, do you realize, what time is it? And, by the way, doesn’t R lead you now? I am on leave.”

“R is boring. And he doesn’t get hints at all.”

Q sat on his bed, covered his face with his palm and rubbed the eyelids with fingertips a little.

“I even have no idea of where are you and what are you doing now,” he lied, totally unwilling to open a laptop and trace double-oh-seven’s current location. “Besides behaving totally unprofessional, of’course.”

“I’m in the theatre and I have a boner. What to do — no idea,” the voice from the other side of the line sounded insolent enough for Q to roll his eyes up.

“Double-oh-seven, my responsibility is your equipment, not your… lack of behaviour. I hope you’re a big boy enought to take yourself to the WC and manage your problem yourself?”

Bond chuckled. Or snorted. Q couldn’t hear for sure, still disoriented by such an impudent interruption of his sleep. 

“I must hold my eyes wide open, so leaving the stalls now would be a crime against the crown. What other means can you suggest me?”

The quatermaster shook his head, stunned again either by the agent’s insolence or blatant idiocy, despite of which Bond managed to wiggle out of any situation. “Or thanks to which,” Q added in his thoughts.

“Try to imagine something that cools your enthusiasm. Some nude unattractive lady far beyond her fifty and two hundred of pounds, for example.”

“I have no idea of what they look like.”

Q rolled his eyes up again, feeling the upcoming headache. Urgh, Bond.

“Use your imagination, double-oh-seven! It is your concern!”

“Your voice doesn’t inspire such plots at all. So old ladies won’t go,” a chuckle came from the phone again.

“Fascinating,” the quatermaster hissed angrily, rubbing his temple. “Imagine Mellory’s naked back, covered with green desinfectant.”

There was a silence for few seconds.

“Your therapy doesn’t really seem to help, Q.”

Q sneered, estimating if he had some pills to manage the headache or he was going to suffer until morning.

“Who knew that your tastes are going to be that specific, double-oh-seven? Try calling R. Perhaps he has a solution for you.”

“I’ve already told you, R is boring,” Bond repeated. “Better tell me, are you wearing your pajamas right now?”

“Yes, I do, double-oh-seven, I’ve been sleeping before you called!” the quatermaster hissed again, falling backwards on the pillows. “If you find a minute to look through the definition dictionary, pay attention to the “time belts” section.”

“And what do these pajamas look like?” Bond totally ignored his remark.

“Striped. Double-oh-seven, I suppose the colour and the presence itself of my pajamas on me won’t help solving your problem at all,” Q twisted his eyebrow ironically, as if this gesture was expressive enough to effect the intonation he gave to his words.

“And what’s under your pajamas? Boring blue boxers with Gummi bears?”

“If you’re trying to have a telephone sex with me, I haste to dissapoint you. I’m not in the mood.”

“Hm. I will take this as nothing,” Bond chuckled. “And, by the way, I’m not trying.”

The quatermaster snorted.

“Missed it. I’m wearing briefs with Wookies print. May we pass away from my underwear already?”

“Keep calm, Q,” Bond laughed strangledly, “even some Wookies are closer to your little butt then I am.”

“Double-oh-seven! Hasn’t anyone told you that laughing in the theatre is obscene? Or are you watching a comedy there?” the just-started headache seemed to fade away under the pressure of his just indignation. “And I’m not surprised you are not familiar with the classics.”

“I don’t like them anyway, so I’m definitely putting them off of you,” Bond proclaimed categorically on the other side of the telephone line.

“Did it seem to me, or you confirmed that you’re not trying to have a telephone sex with me just seconds ago?”

“I’m not trying, I began doing it long ago,” Bond sneered smugly again.

Q rolled his eyes up one more time.

“Stop talking nonesense! Have you forgotten you’re on a mission?” he noticed coldly. “It seemed to me that the boner in the theater was your proplem, not a subject for entertainment.“

“Stop talking nonesense. Acknowledged,” double-oh-seven informed him affirmatively, ignoring everything else again. “Hence I could use my mouth for another purpose.”

“Bond!” the quatermaster exclaimed with indignation, feeling his ears starting turning crimson traitorously. However the sense of responsibility and the unopportunately emerged curiosity didn’t let him drop the connection.

“Was it “proceed” or “stop”? Anyway, there is no time for questions, because now I am right there at the bottom of your dick petting it with my tongue. Is it you twitching or it really does react?”

“Take your head off my dick!” the quatermaster gazed into his pajamas pants to make sure that his Q-junior is sleeping as calmly as his owner should right now and was displeased to find he was wrong.

“Well, if you asy so. I raise my head and kiss your belly. So pale and soft, as if you’ve been wearing your damn sweater and living in London for all your life. However it is comfortable to bite this skin with my lips. And these hair down there are definitely begging me to brush them with my tongue tip.”

“Talking to the body parts? How boring, Mr. Bond. I’m disappointed.”

“Your voice is trembling just like your dick. I should help it. I stroke it with my palm, hold it a little tighter, round the peak softly with my thumb. You asked me to take my head off but told nothing about my hands. Hm-m, it seems to like it. And I like to kiss your collarbones.”

“Ahem…” Q exhaled a little louder than he expected. “I sincerely hope you’re not in the stalls.”

“Of course not. I’m in your bed right now. Putting you down on your back and spreading your legs.”

“I must be watching a nightmare.”

“One of those nightmares that shockingly prove not only your brain is fully functional whan you wake up. Quite an acceptable explanation, agree?”

“M-m,” Q moaned, waving his head, hoping to point his annoyance, but that was more then unpersuasive. From the other end of the line a pleased victorious chuckle came.

“I’m stroking your right hip down… or is it the left one? Your hair bristle, but it is not because of the open vent pane. I stroke your dick again. Hm-m, its hard enough to open its glans.”

The quatermaster moved his eyes down where his pajamas pants rose as a small but significant hill. 

“Double-oh-seven, I hate you.”

“Sorry, can’t talk, my mouth is busy.” 

“You’re trying so hard, do you want me to pet you for a good behavior?” Q asked as untouched as he could pretend and brought his hand down to his dick that was interested in Bond’s plainly obscene whispering much stronger than Q wanted.

“Oh, I would appreciate that. However, I’ve almost finished. Now I spread your legs wider and grab your little butt. I sincerely hope that the Wookies didn’t do any irreparable harm.”

“Bond, do you realize that MI-6 may be listening to us?” Q stated with melancholy, putting his fingers under the elastic band of his underwear. “What do you think M would say of your perfomance on this mission?”

“In that case I should mention that it wasn’t me to offer Mellory’s butt as a miraculous remedy from the erection,” laught came from the other end of the line.

“Are you wearing something, by the way?” Q tried to specify but immediately recollected himself: “Oh, sure, you’re in theatre.”

Somehow the image of Bond that ended up in Q’s bed in his full dress didn’t cool his betraying exitement at all. More likely it made it even grow. His imagination, after recieving such a push, soon completed the other details of the picture and Q, while continuing to press his lips, moved the skin of his dick few times.

“And you seem to like it. I put your leg on my shoulder and slide a finger into you. You’re so clean, did I catch you after a shower? I gently touch you from the inside, expecting you to groan with delight.”

“Bond!” his lingering yell already lost any sign of indignation.

“Oh, you hold me so tight. I can lose my finger that way. Relax and I’ll do it one more time. But first I’m going to rumple your nuts a little.”

“Damn you…”

“Relax. Sex makes good sleep.”

“Did it seem to me or it was you having the problems with the sexual discharge, not me?

“Oh, are you now having problems too? Why don’t we join our efforts?” Q was ready to swear he saw self-satisfied face of double-oh-seven, flattering his eyelashes innocently. “I’ve been ready for a long time.”

“Urrgh… fuck me finally and let me go to sleep!”

“Oh, the boy doesn’t like long preludes?”

“I’m no more of a boy than you, double-oh-seven, and you… you’re distracting!”

“Oh, sorry. My finger is still in you. I guess, you’re relaxed enough now to put in one more and press your prostate again.”

Q moaned, grabbing his dick harder, and spreaded his legs as if Bond really was there beside him, not somewhere in another time belt, and was ready to demonstrate his rich knowledge of the anatomy in practice. 

“I’m stroking your belly, taking your tension down. You’re so pure and innocent and clearly not used to it.” Q couldn’t hold himsel from another chuckle. “I freeze my chin on your hipbone. You definitely should eat more meat. How do you even sit on such a thin butt?”

Light fluke of the night breeze came through the vent pan and touched the quatermaster’s uncovered belly ‘cause his pajamas’ top moved somewhere upwards, making the presense effect stronger and literally driving Q mad. 

“Double-oh-seven... I recall your mouth was busy…” he moaned, dropping all the attempts to hide his exitement and maintaining the handjob on his dick, freed from under his briefs, where it looked quite phantasmagoric because of the thin textile, covered with multiplied faces of roaring Chewbacca.

“It seems to me you are at risk of coming before I fuck you.”   
  
“Oh, Bond, I don’t have such a rich....” he interrupted in the middle of the sentence, because his breath was caught with the sudden orgasm. Bent unwillingly, he pressed himself in a creasy blanket with a long inhale, while his dick carried out the natural phisiological process somewhere in the direction of the carpet.

“Rich what?”

“Uh?” Q murmured in distraction, observeng the coloured spots splatting under his closed eyelids. “I was talking of something…” he adjusted his pajamas, when the night breeze touched his belly again, naked and a little too sensitive at the moment. And then, through the blissful glaze of the dopamine ecstazy, he realized something that he should have guessed with his ingenious mind half an hour ago: “Double-oh-seven, you were shooting in the dark when you said that my vent pan was open, weren’t you?”  
  
The sound of shattering glass and noise of the window frame cracking off from the loops came instead of answer. Q reflexly covered himself with the blanket, but the next second he jumped out again, demonstrating all the colours of his conflicting feelings on his face to the one who ruined his sleep, his window and his sick dreams, represented by the most unruly agent with double-oh index.

“Bond!” the quatermaster gestured expressively, but couldn’t find the right printable words to ask what the fuck was going on.

Double-oh-seven shrugged without a hitch.

“I didn’t want to waste time on arguments at the closed door,” the agent observed the damage he caused in a feigned anxiety. “One more reason now to make another request to Mellory to change your windows for the bullet-proof ones.”   
  
Q noticed binoculars and a half-untied bow-tie on his neck that likely evidenced some disaster together with a partly ragged tuxedo and narrowed his eyes (however, he managed to notice all that only when he groped his glasses that were lying nearby).

“Shouldn’t you be in Tunise right now?” he noticed gibingly.

Even on leave the quatermaster preferred to stay in course of the events for some unexpected cases. Like that one, for instance.

“I came back one day earlier,” Bond shrugged again, following his words with an indefinite gesture that, according to the plan, should have clear him of all possible accusations.

“But what about the theatre?” Q raised his eyebrow in a feign disapproval. 

“I lied,” he chuckled, impertinently observing the bedroom and its owner. “However I really liked the perfomance. Seats in the stalls, you know.”

The night chill came through the broken window, making Q scringe and think of saying goodbye to the calm sleep or finding some better place for it.

“What the hell do you want?” he asked tiredly, feeling the pleasent relax in his body that couldn’t be cast out even with the sudden appearence of Bond.

“I thought I’ve stated my problem from the very start,” double-oh-seven sighed dramatically, pressing his lips almost as if being offended. “An you’ve even agreed to join our efforts. At least, I defenitely remember you asking me to fuck you finally loud and clear,” he stretched the edges of his mouth in a jaunty smile. “Or I’m having some troubles with hearing and the MI-6 doctors didn’t mention it in my tests’ results?”

Exclaiming a long weep of indignation, the quatermaster threw a pillow at the night guest with all the possible strength. Bond caught it easily, approached the bed slowly and put it on its place with a demonstrative delicacy.

“Sounds like another invitation,” getting himself in bed in one jump, he put his elbow on that very pillow, holding his head with a palm.

“Double-oh-seven, I have no time for this,” Q looked at him grumpy through the eye-glasses.

“But you’ve said it yourself, you’re on leave,” Bond marked pointedly while throwing away the binocules. “And, by the way,” he returned again to the confidently-sneering whisper, binding to the quatermaster’s very ear and making hair on his neck bristle again, “I still have a boner.”


End file.
